


From Bored to Blissed

by OneStarryNight



Series: Fantasy to Reality [3]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Afterglow, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Gen, Masturbation, Oneshot, Orgasm, Overstimulation, PWP, Porn, Prostate Massage, Prostate Orgasm, Self-Penetration, Smut, post-apocalyptic sex toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29225436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneStarryNight/pseuds/OneStarryNight
Summary: For a second time Max pauses, freezes actually, hand stilling on his cock. He’d forgotten it was there, hadn’t even considered it an option, but he could… Fuck, just the thought makes the heat flare in his groin and a moan escape his lips.Furiosa’s gone for the evening, and Max is bored. He decides to get off, but why just use his hand when there are other options?
Relationships: Furiosa/Max Rockatansky
Series: Fantasy to Reality [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121282
Kudos: 16





	From Bored to Blissed

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the Fantasy to Reality verse. It’s not necessary that you read those fics, just know that Max and Furiosa have previously engaged in anal sex/pegging. Please read the tags. Nothing specific to warn for, just really graphic depictions of self-penetration and anal play.

Max doesn’t believe in boredom. Spending years traveling the wasteland, driving in silence, going months on end without human contact, you’d think would be full of boredom. But Max lived those days vacillating between two extremes. Either he was running wild, voices shouting, whispering to him, thoughts whirling until he couldn’t get away. Or, occasionally, there would be quiet, beautiful quiet. Then Max would sit and stare into the horizon and just be, not quite peaceful, but calm. Those moments all the more precious because he knew they wouldn’t last.

Either way he never felt bored. The wasteland is too dangerous to fall into lethargy, not that his own mind would let him. And since coming to the Citadel the stimulation was sometimes overwhelming. He’d eventually gotten to where he could mostly be around the crowds of people, could follow the conversations that swirled through the air sometimes. Now his hypervigilance is a more manageable wariness. He could be comfortable, but never bored.

Or so he thought. Right now though, Max is in his and Furiosa’s room and isn’t… quite sure what to do with himself. Furiosa is with the Sisters having a girls night, which he is totally in support of. He’s not sure exactly what that entails, although if past girls nights are any indication there will be moonshine and very late hours. Furiosa might not even come back at all tonight, only crawling into their room after the sun has risen and making him go fetch her breakfast.

This is fine and Max doesn’t begrudge her those private get togethers. Usually when Furiosa isn’t here for some reason, and sometimes when she is, Max is too exhausted from the day's work that he’ll almost immediately fall asleep. Today was a light day though, more polishing and tinkering in the garages than heavy manual labor.

Max frowns to himself, sitting on their bed. He doesn’t want to sleep, and he can’t be with Furiosa. He can’t go back down to the garages and keep working because Furiosa’s pretty adamant that’s too disruptive to the black thumbs who sleep nearby. He supposes he could go and hang out with them, see what they’re doing. He considers it for a moment before discarding the idea. The black thumbs are good at what they do and fine to be around, friendly boys. He knows he would be welcomed, enthusiastically, but Max doesn’t think he has the mental energy to deal with a room full of rowdy men with no work to direct that energy towards.

He looks around the room. Furiosa took her prosthetic, so he can’t clean that. She has some guns tucked away somewhere he’s sure he could find and clean, but she’s pretty tetchy about her firearms, so he doesn’t really want to mess with them anymore than absolutely necessary.

He stands and moves toward the tiny collection of books Furiosa has stacked on her workbench. Max isn’t illiterate, he can read to get by, but it’s not his strong suit. Not something he seeks out as a pleasurable activity. He likes it fine enough when Cheedo reads aloud while they’re all gathered together some evenings, but he’ll admit that’s mostly because her voice is calm and melodic, and Furiosa is usually sitting right next to him, one of their heads on the others’ shoulder.

Yeah, reading doesn’t seem too appealing to him right now. Max wanders back to the bed and sits down. He scratches his head. This is odd. His head is clear, no whirling whispers dragging him into a panic. But he also doesn’t feel quite calm and relaxed either. He’s… fuck, he’s bored, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He sits there for another minute before undressing, deciding he might as well try to go to sleep and get a head start on the next day. He can try, but Max really isn’t tired, and doesn’t know if he can fall asleep without either the mental exhaustion of a day filled with talking or the physical exhaustion of a hard day’s work. Or at least the exhaustion that comes when he and Furiosa –

Oh. Max pauses where he’s pulling off his boots. He could do that. It’s been a long time since he’s done it by himself. It never really felt necessary before he and Furiosa got together, and since then doing it with Furiosa has been all he needs.

He keeps undressing slowly. Would she mind if he did? They’ve never really talked about it, but he can’t imagine she would. He knows he doesn’t mind if she were to while he was absent, so he feels safe in deciding the feeling is mutual. Maybe he’ll ask her, just to be sure.

Max snorts to himself. Who’s he kidding, he’s never going to talk to Furiosa about that. He’s barely talking to himself about it. He’s naked now, and looks down at his cock where it’s lying between his legs, starting to twitch to life. He reaches gingerly and take it in hand, giving it a soft stroke, then another. It feels good and Max doesn’t know why he’s surprised. It’s been a _very_ long time since he’s done this by himself.

It’s rather dry though, even after Max licks his palm. It’s wetter when Furiosa does it, either with her mouth, or her cunt. Even with her hand it’s slicker somehow, probably because he’s already hard and leaking by the time she does, and she can lubricate that way. He scans the room, wondering if there’s anything he can use-

For a second time Max pauses, freezes actually, hand stilling on his cock. He’d forgotten it was there, hadn’t even considered it an option, but he could… Fuck, just the thought makes the heat flare in his groin and a moan escape his lips. There’s a definite flush to his cock now as he stands and walks over to the cupboard in the corner. Squatting, Max opens it and pulls out the rubber and now half empty jar of oil.

He hesitates now that he’s holding the rubber in his hand. Jerking off is one thing, but this would be something else. His face heats up a bit at the thought. What would Furiosa say? Would she think it’s weird that he likes it when she not here, wants to do it do himself? He tries to reverse the situation in his mind. Would he be upset if he found out she was using the rubber on herself? No, he decides if anything that’d be… His breath hitches at the visual. That’d be fine, more than fine, watching Furiosa fuck herself on the rubber.

Short of asking her, which Max is pretty confident he will never do, he’ll have to trust that she would feel the same way. He glances at the door to make sure it’s locked and makes his way back to the bed. Hopefully this night is no anomaly which has Furiosa returning any time before midnight.

He considers the best way to do this. Lying on his front might be too confining he feels, and on his back somehow seems too vulnerable. How he’s not sure, he’s completely alone, no one to be vulnerable with, but the thought just makes him uncomfortable. So he decides to just stay upright, on his knees, and see how it goes. Hopefully the mattress won’t bother his knee too much.

His cock is fully hard now when he settles on his knees, and Max can admit that’s more from anticipation than the few strokes he’s given it. He fumbles with the jar of oil, finally getting it open and ready to pour some out. This is it. He’s doing it now, not just thinking about it, or wondering if he can, he’s actually going to do this. He’s actually going to put his fingers in… and then the… He feels a dip in arousal, nervous suddenly. Furiosa isn’t here to do it, and she always does it perfectly. What if he messes up? What if he ruins it, makes himself hate it, and then doesn’t want to do this with Furiosa again?

Max sits still, battling a ripple of panic that is suddenly flowing through him, saying he can’t, it’s too much. He breaths and tells himself it’s okay. It’s okay, he won’t ruin this, he won’t hate it. If it becomes too much or he just doesn’t like it, he’s allowed to stop. There’s nobody watching, nothing to prove. He gives his cock a few gentle strokes to center himself to help him remember that this can feel good, and that’s okay.

After a few moments Max lets go of his cock and coats his index finger liberally with oil. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he moves his hand down between his legs, behind his balls to rub above his hole. He doesn’t penetrate, just rubs and presses small circles, forcing himself to just shut up and feel. Because it feels good, just this somehow. He increases the pressure and focuses on the sensation, trying to block out everything else.

He presses in now, his finger slick enough to go down to the second knuckle. He lets out a moan before he can stop himself. It’s so warm and tight, the pressure already squeezing around his one finger which is thicker than Furiosa’s. He moves it out and then back in, out and then in deeper, to the base. Max moans again and feels another rush of heat pool in the pit of his stomach. He wants more already but forces himself to move slow. Now that he’s doing it, he wants it to last. He keeps pumping steadily, letting his body relax around the sensation.

Gingerly he withdraws his finger and recoats it along with his middle. Shuffling his knees wider apart on the mattress he presses back in. It’s a stretch now, not all the way pleasant, so he slows, working them in incrementally. Finally they are pushed to the hilt, and Max pauses, realizing he’s breathing hard. Fuck, but it’s good, the stretch amazing now and not painful.

He starts thrusting them now, moving faster, and it’s a good thing he’s already on his knees because otherwise they’d probably be giving out now. He scissors his fingers, shivering at the feeling. He needs more but can’t make himself stop long enough to withdraw. Max curls his fingers experimentally, wondering if he can find it.

He knows he’s got it when a spark of pure ecstasy licks up his spine. “Oh, fuck” he groans, and does it again. And again. He’s sweating now, he’s so warm but somehow that just makes it better, more real. It’s more intense than when Furiosa did it, if that’s even possible. He controls the pressure and pace this time and can alternate and combine those two factors as he pleases.

Max withdraws and hastily recoats his fingers, three of them now, and reinserts them. Too hastily, going by the burn he feels, but he can’t be bothered with that now. He gets them pushed to the third knuckle and starts pumping vigorously, ignoring the stinging stretch. It takes a couple strokes for his fingers to re-find that slight bump, but then- Max lets out some obscene sound that’s halfway between a groan and a sob when he presses it, harder this time. His head falls back involuntarily and his spin arches. 

Oh, it’s so, so... Max can’t even describe how it feels, how intense and intimate it is. How the fullness and slick slide of his fingers complements so well the intoxicating flare that rushes through him each time he presses that spot. It’s so much, it’s melting his nerves and causing them to pool into a heavy weight right above where his fingers are moving.

He wants to keep going even faster but forces himself to slow down. Slowly, he opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling for a minute as his fingers keep thrusting leisurely. Max is debating whether to keep going at this slower speed or move on when he presses that spot again, harder than he intended.

Max shudders involuntarily. There’s no option now, he needs more. He gradually withdraws his fingers, sucking in a quick breath as they catch on the rim of his hole. For a moment he just sits there, trying to catch his breath, feeling his hole spasm around nothing. He hasn’t touched his cock besides those first few strokes, but it’s still hard, arching up and almost brushing his stomach. He reaches for the rubber and moves to coat it with oil.

Max shuffles his knees farther apart and sits back until his ass is hovering over the bed. He plants one palm on the bed in front and moves the rubber down below him. There’s a moment of hesitation now that he’s had a chance to breath, but he still wants to do this, he knows he does. This is okay, there’s nothing to feel guilty about. It’s fine that he likes this, there’s no reason to be embarrassed.

He tells himself this as he brushes his hole over the rubber and grinds down. He pulls himself back up and then down again, pressing until the rubber slides in the first inch. Oh _fuck_. How does he forget every time how much this is, how it stretches him so deliciously? He lifts up a little bit and then presses back further, pushing the rubber in deeper.

Once more, and then it’s in, he can feel the flared base of it press against his rim. Or more like he thinks he can feel it, it’s hard to focus on anything beyond the roaring in his ears and fullness that’s pressing out his breath, pressing out his fear and hesitation. There’s no room for anything else now, the wholeness is all consuming. All he can do is keep moving forward.

He moves again, one hand gripping the rubber to keep it steady as he moves forward and bears back down. “Oh, please” Max gasps, not sure what he’s pleading for. He just needs more, needs it to not stop. He moves again, faster, shifts his hand holding the rubber. Please, fuck, he needs to…

Then without warning he hits it, slams the rubber hard right on that spot. “Ohh!” Max shouts. He can’t help himself, any inhibitions he had about being vocal during sex are gone now. That was so much, so hard, just right. He thrusts again and sobs, his breath ragged. His cock jerks, and another bead of precum falls onto his stomach, joins the trail that’s trickling toward his balls.

He probably looks completely debauched fucking himself like this on the rubber, but he can’t think about that now. He can’t focus on anything but the swelling fullness that makes him feel distended, nothing except the hard sharp pleasure that ricochets through his body each time the rubber shoves just right. It’s too much, he can’t, fuck, he needs to come.

Max looks down at his cock where it’s stiff and red, almost purple by now. The foreskin is furled away and the head is glistening, bobbing against his wet stomach. He wants to touch it, he wants to come, he _needs_ to come. But he doesn't, just keeps shoving himself back onto the rubber. The weight in his balls is getting heavier, contracting. The heat of impending orgasm keeps coiling tighter and tighter, but he doesn’t stop.

His thighs are starting to burn, his eyes are stinging from sweat and tears. He doesn’t stop moving, still doesn’t touch himself and bring this to an end. “Oh. Ohh, _fuck_. Fuck, just...please, just...” Max isn’t sure what he’s saying anymore, he’s too far gone to process the words that are spilling out of his mouth in between the groans. He just knows that it’s so intense, the way his nerves flare with each ram of the rubber.

The ache in his lower abdomen is almost painful now, but it’s also wonderful. Max never knew it was possible to feel such a throbbing torment, such sharp pleasure that’s somehow keeps building more and more with every piercing stab. It’s everywhere now, not just in his cock or his ass. The fire is licking through his chest, sparking from the soles of his feet to the space behind his eyes. And it’s so fucking amazing, so hot and raw. He’s aching, he’s burning under the agonizing weight of this pressure. He needs it to stop, it’s too much. He needs it to never stop, it’s too perfect.

Max impales himself on the rubber, buries it to the hilt. His eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth hangs open as he rocks his torso back and forth, clenching his hole around the rubber. Fuck, he needs to _come_. He feels his spot rubbed with each backward push. It’s there now, it’s so close, he can feel it on his tongue, in back of his knees. The warm liquid feeling that’s just about boiling now, that's been swirling deliciously through his groin is almost there. It’s so good, it’s so full, he’s so close. He just needs, he just, so-

Then with a ragged wail he’s coming, hard. His untouched cock spurts jets of cum that hit his chin, his chest. His hole contracts around the rubber, clenching it tight. But Max doesn’t notice any of that, he can’t process anything other than the ecstasy that’s flooding his brain and ravishing his body. The intoxicating pleasure pulses on and on, wrapping him in a rush of warmth that threatens to melt his muscles and his mind.

He thinks it actually does melt him, reduces him to a puddle of flaccid limbs as he falls forward. His brain is a fuzzy muddle, unable to process anything beyond ‘breathe’ and ‘holy shit'. He can barely coordinate enough to clench his hole but he does, shuddering as it sends exquisite aftershocks coursing through him. Eventually he stops and just lies there, catching his breath as the buzzing throughout his whole body settles into a pleasant hum.

Max opens his eyes an indeterminate amount of time later. He doesn’t think he actually fell asleep, just drifted, sated and calm. He wonders vaguely if he’s able to sit up now. He should clean himself up, clean up the rubber and the sheets. He’s pretty gross honestly, lying here with cum on his chin and chest, letting it rub off and dry on the bed along with his sweat. But fuck if he cares.

The intensity, the almost violent force with which he came has pretty much stunned him, rendered him incapable of processing anything resembling self-consciousness. Furiosa could come in at any moment and would see him like this, would know. But a full body orgasm that literally knocked him down has consumed all concern on that front.

As delicately as possible Max reaches back and extracts the rubber, wincing at the dry catch on his rim. He tosses it on the floor and sinks back down on the mattress. Eventually he’ll have to get up, clean himself up and it will be even harder than if he just does it now. Eventually he’ll register his thirst and feel how sore his ass is going to be in the morning. Eventually he’ll feel silly for how fucked out he his, slightly squirm at the memory of how needy he was for it.

But until then he’s going to ride this afterglow to its full completion, soak up all the bliss he can. His eyes flutter closed, and his still muddled brain has time for one last thought before he floats into sleep. Max should really get bored more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I got a bit carried away with this one, it was so much fun! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome!


End file.
